Robert Parker - Gunman's Rhapsody

“You want me to change your luck, cowboy?” Bat said.

Bear’s mouth opened and closed. He tried to hold Bat’s look and couldn’t.

Finally he said, “Aw shit,” and folded his hand.

No one else spoke.

“I’m out,” he said.

He picked up his chips and walked away from the table. Wyatt gestured to the other players, and they handed in their cards.

“You in?” he said to Bat.

“Sure,” he said.

Wyatt reshuffled and dealt again. By late afternoon, Bat had won four dollars, and Wyatt closed the game and took a table near the bar with Bat. Bat had a glass of whiskey. Wyatt had coffee.

“You really looking for work?” Wyatt said.

“Sure. Heard there was work here.”

“We can use you,” Wyatt said.

“I assume that some of the customers are tougher than Bear.”

“Some.”

“But not tougher than you and me,” Bat said.

“Not yet,” Wyatt said.

“Heard you and Virgil and Morg had a little standoff with a lynch mob.”

“Mob’s like a cattle herd,” Wyatt said, “you know that. All you got to do is turn ’em. What you been doing?”

“Up in Ogallala,” Bat said, “with Ben Thompson.”

“Peace officering?”

Bat laughed.

“Not exactly,” he said. “Ben’s brother Billy got himself in trouble up there. Me and Ben had to go up there and get him out ’fore they hung him.”

“Woman?”

“ ’Course,” Bat said. “Little whiskey mixed in. You know Billy.”

“Meanest loudmouthed drunken little bastard I ever ran into,” Wyatt said.

“Got Ben into a lot more trouble Ben ever got into himself,” Bat said.

Wyatt shrugged.

“Blood’s blood,” he said. “You on the run?”

“No, we got him out clean. I left him and Ben in Dodge, got a train to Trinidad, hopped a Santa Fe work train far as it went and caught the stage over to Deming.”

“Apache Country,” Wyatt said.

“Yeah, they let me ride shotgun.”

“Where they can get a clean shot at you,” Wyatt said.

Masterson laughed.

“What was that story Lincoln told, ‘Wasn’t for the honor I’d just as soon walk’? Anyway, we got to Deming and I got a train to Benson, and took the stage in.”

“Doc in town?” Masterson said.

Wyatt nodded.

“Big-Nose Kate is here with him,” he said.

“For how long?”

Wyatt shrugged.

“Half an hour be a long time with Kate,” he said.

Johnny’s losing his hair, Wyatt thought as he sat across from Behan at a table near the back wall of the Oriental.

“The reason I wanted to talk with you, Wyatt, is this,” Behan said.

He had a glass of beer in front of him. He put his hat down on the seat of an unused chair beside them. It was broad-brimmed like the cowboys wore. Most townsmen wore a shorter brim.

“You know,” Behan said, “that there’s a lot of conflict between the townspeople and the cowboys.”

Wyatt didn’t comment. He picked up his coffee cup in both hands and drank and held the cup in front of him as he listened.

“Lotta folks think cowboy is another word for rustler,” Behan said. “And I know there’s some rustling going on, but I figure it’s mostly Mexican stock and…” He shrugged.

Wyatt waited.

“They’d be a good source of tax revenue if you could collect from them. They come into town regularly, and spend money here. What I’m trying to do is, I’m trying to get to know the cowboys a little better, maybe smooth things out.”

Wyatt drank some more coffee. Behan looked at him expectantly. Wyatt didn’t say anything.

“God, you ain’t a talkative man, are you,” Behan said.

“No,” Wyatt said. “I’m not.”

“Well, you know all these cowboys, don’t you?” Behan said.

“Yes.”

“What can you tell me about them?”

“They’re kind of rambunctious,” Wyatt said.

“I know that,” Behan said. “I was thinking we could talk some, you know. You tell me about the ones you know, and maybe I can get to know them; being on friendly terms, I might be able to keep them from being so rambunctious.”

“Fred White was on friendly terms,” Wyatt said.

“Coroner’s inquest held that to be an accidental shooting, Wyatt. You know that.”

“Sure,” Wyatt said.

Behan turned the beer glass slowly on the tabletop in front of him. The bubbles rose briskly through the beer. Earp always made him feel uncomfortable. Johnny thought of himself as a politician. He thought of the sheriff’s job as a political job. Before he said something, he tried to figure out how other people would react to what he said. He tried not to offend. He tried to accommodate. Politics was compromise. Life was compromise. The way you succeeded was figuring people out, and using what you’d figured, to get them on your side. Johnny couldn’t figure Earp out. He seemed disinterested in what other people thought. He showed no interest in compromise. He just went in a straight line toward wherever he was going and didn’t pay much attention to what other people said. Johnny felt almost wistful for a moment. What would that be like?

“So tell me about Curley Bill,” Behan said.

“Brocius? He’s a pretty likable fella,” Wyatt said. “Word’s good. Polite around women. Laughs a lot. He wasn’t a damn rustler, he might amount to something. Except when he’s got a problem, the first thing he does is shoot at it.”

“He looks pretty dangerous.”

“Got a cute spin move with a gun,” Wyatt said. “Offers it to you dangling on his finger, butt first, like he’s going to surrender, you know, then spins it on the trigger guard and plonks you in the chest. You ever ask for his gun, have him drop it on the ground.”

Behan nodded.

“I was a sheriff in Prescott, you know,” he said.

“Fred White done some police work too,” Wyatt said.

Behan nodded again.

“You sound like you like Brocius,” Behan said.

“I do, but I ain’t confused about him.”

“How about John Ringo?” Behan said.

“He don’t talk much either,” Wyatt said.

“But he’s dangerous,” Behan said.

“Yes.”

“Dangerous as Curley Bill?”

“More.”

Behan stared thoughtfully into his beer glass for a moment. Then he lifted his head and leaned back a bit in his chair. Wyatt noticed that Behan hadn’t drunk any of the beer. A careful man, Wyatt thought.

“Dangerous as your friend Holliday?” Behan said.

“Never been put to the test,” Wyatt said.

“More dangerous than you?” Behan asked, and smiled as if to apologize for so brazen a question.

“Same answer,” Wyatt said.

“Explain to me about you and Holliday,” Behan said.

“I like him,” Wyatt said.

Behan waited. Wyatt didn’t say anything else.

Finally Behan said, “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Behan thought about pushing the issue and decided not to. He had plenty of time to learn about Doc Holliday.

“What do you know about the rustling?” Behan said.

“Same thing everyone knows,” Wyatt said. “It’s back and forth across the border. Steal horses in Arizona, sell them in Mexico. Steal cattle in Mexico, sell them in Arizona.”

“Ringo and Brocius are involved?”

“Yes.”

“They have a headquarters?”

“Hear they got a camp in the Mountains.”

“Chiricahuas?”

“Yes.”

“You know where?”

“No.”

“Could you find it?”

“Sure.”

“But you have no reason to,” Behan said.

“I deal cards,” Wyatt said. “I’m in business with my brothers.”

“Of course,” Behan said. “Who else is involved?”